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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27477835">Beautiful and cruel, dressed in indigo and blue</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Steele_and_Bones/pseuds/Steele_and_Bones'>Steele_and_Bones</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hollow Knight (Video Games), Minecraft (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Crossover, Dimension Travel, Gen, Mental Health Issues, Minor Violence, im back on my bullshit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 19:47:41</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,105</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27477835</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Steele_and_Bones/pseuds/Steele_and_Bones</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The End swallows an explorer whole, and somehow sees fit to spit them back up in a faraway land. Maybe it’s what they need.<br/>And maybe, that faraway world needs them.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>51</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>98</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Cruel Little World</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Edit: All mentions of a “Cendrillion” have been replaced with a “Mitras”.</p><p>I have bigger plans for Cendrillion, so I decided to remove them from this fic.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Ossero sees the endless black sky above, blurred at the edges by their own dark hair, and it takes a split second for them to register that they’re really falling.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The weightless world against their back, tearing at their skin as the air screams in their ears, but it’s not the only thing screaming. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">For one gentle, merciful moment, they feel nothing. In fact, they’re almost confused as harsh air carries their arms out and they see Asteron’s horrified expression—twisted with anguish and pain the likes of which they’ve never seen. And if only for a moment, they wonder why their best friend and companion is screaming a high, shrill scream of pain, with their hand outstretched into the void and wild light hair framing their face. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And then they realize.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They’re falling. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They’re falling into the endless navy and indigo nothingness that surrounds the End, and the sparse, sickly yellow islands that hang in place with nothing holding them up.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And it takes less than a second for the panic to set in.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They scream, they flail, they desperately claw the air for something, anything that could pull them back up to their friends, something that could save them. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But there’s nothing. Nothing at all. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Something thin and shimmering whizzes past their face. Mitras’s fishing rod. It misses—misses, in that crucial, crucial moment.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Through the adrenaline and blood and air pumping through their ears, Ossero just barely hears Carthenalian screaming out their name, sees their pale hand wrenching Asteron back from the edge.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And they fall. They fall into the darkness below, as the tiny End island they fell from fades from view and the screaming of their friends is replaced by their own.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Or maybe that’s the wind in their ears. They can’t tell the difference.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But they don’t see Mitras desperately trying to yank a binding-cursed chest plate off of themself—they are the only one with elytra. They don’t see Asteron crumpling to the floor like a discarded weapon and sobbing, and they don’t see Carthenalian desperately sorting through their inventory for a potion or an enchantment that could solve this.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">All Ossero sees is their own tears lifting from their face as they fall. They expect the moment of pain to come—for their body to break down into shining bits of XP, for the darkness to cloud their vision once and for all.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Somehow, they know that when they lose all strength in this place, they won’t be waking up back in bed at home—this silent hell is truly the End.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And this will be the place where they die.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But that moment never comes. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Ossero just...falls. And falls. They almost want to just—close their eyes and stop existing.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But then before their eyes, they see Asteron’s anguished face and outstretched hand, Carthenalian’s pained surprise and disbelief. And Mitras, oh, Mitras. The cleverest out of them all, the person who conquered the Nether and then went on with the other three of them to conquer the End. Mitras, faced with the one thing they couldn’t fix, even if they tried with that fishing rod of theirs.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And Ossero suddenly realizes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They don’t want to die.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They don’t want to die. They’re not a problem-solver or builder like Mitras, and they can’t mass-produce potions like clever, impatient Carthenalian. They can’t even sort or make weapons half as well as beautiful Asteron.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But they don’t want to die. They want to live, to go home and to see see the faces of their friends and lone companions again. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The feeling roars in their chest and their head with that desperate, undying panic and rage of a dying man—even in the futility of this, they can’t give up. Not won’t, but can’t. Something drives them, pushes them on, to turn in mid-air, summon a bucket from their inventory, and glare down into the abyss despite the air rushing and stinging their eyes. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And the darkness parts as a familiar pale, yellow island appears below them.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And Ossero throws the bucket in one sweeping, graceful maneuver, hears that blessed splashing of water, and they land in it, immediately collapsing, arms outstretched and face to the sky.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They realize they’re panting as the cool embrace of water soaks through the cracks in their armor and clings to their skin. They’re alive. The burning in their heart recedes, even if only slightly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">For a while, they just lay there, staring up into the same black sky that swallowed them whole. They ignore the hissing of Endermen who skirt away from the water’s edges, they ignore the oppressive silence around them.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They’re alive. They breathe, sitting up with an empty bucket to collect the water once more. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They’re alive.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The World is Quiet Here</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Edit: All mentions of a “Cendrillion” in this fic have been replaced with a “Mitras”. </p><p>I have bigger plans for Cendrillion, so I decided to remove them from this fic.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Ossero does not know how long they’ve been here.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They don’t know how many days or nights have passed in the Overworld, they don’t know if their friends have left the End.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Surely, they must have. After all, it’s been quite a while since they fell.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They’ve been wandering for a long time now. The fight with the Ender Dragon, their fall, it’s all a distant memory now. When they first landed, they thought it would be easy. Find an End beacon and pearl back to the main island, then hop into the portal and boom, they’d be home. Asteron would cry and hug them and be distraught and happy, Carthenalian would furiously shower them with regeneration and healing potions and food, just to make sure they were safe. And Mitras would drag them to the Glass Spire and sit them in front of a beacon, making them watch the sunset.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But it wasn’t that easy. Of course it wasn’t. Ossero, in those first few days, wandered the End with what little supplies they had. They only had on iron armor, all of them did. This was just supposed to be a quick expedition, so Carthenalian could make maps and they could raid a few End Cities. They never intended to—to be separated.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But that was a long, long time ago now. Maybe not years, but surely months. They ran out of food quickly, in this second layer to the End. So they started eating chorus fruits, and they got used to the way their stomach churned when they teleported. They learned quickly to look either directly up or down when traveling, to avoid the pale eyes of Endermen.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And they never saw a single End beacon. First, this unnerved them. Then panic set in, and finally, cold and bitter acceptance. This layer of the End is devoid of them entirely.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There is no escape. This abyss is their prison now. They refuse to think of it as their home.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And they came across many, many End Cities. Here, the cities look....dilapidated, almost. Less than pristine. They’re still chock-full of shulkers at every corner, but that, too, becomes second nature. They take every bit of loot, from the diamonds to the enchanted books. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The world is eerily quiet, as always. The only sounds are the occasional chirping of Endermen in their strange, backwards language, and Ossero’s own footsteps. Chorus fruit stalks stretch towards the sky. They take a deep breath, rolling their shoulders. They found a tattered, purple cape along with some strangely styled clothes in an End City not too long ago, so they’ve adopted that as their new outfit for now. It’s been a long time since they had to abandon their old clothes from the Overworld due to wear and tear.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Their breaths shudder as they look forward. A few small platforms of end stone loom in the distance, over the void, connecting to a much larger island in the far corners of their view. They’ve long since abandoned the habit of looking at the ground. The Endermen never seem to attack them anymore. Even when they look into their eyes, they just stare back.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s chilling. But Ossero tries not to think about the meaning behind that.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They just keep walking to the edge of their current island, gaging the gap. They could probably make that jump with their elytra wings. The metallic silver objects are still strapped to the back of their protection-4 diamond chest plate, under their cape. They were gifted with the unbreaking three and mending books Ossero found long ago, to keep them from wearing.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">For a moment, they contemplate just...staying where they are. Laying down and never getting up, letting themself starve, or even just building a small home here on this End island. They’ve thought of it many times.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But then that burning in their chest comes back, demanding that they live. So they shake their head and raise a hand to brush the lengthening hair from their eyes—</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And across the void, something sparkles.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">This makes Ossero freeze. For just the briefest moment, they think that maybe it’s an End beacon. But they squash it before that light hope can find a home. It’s impossible and they know better than to get their hopes up at this point.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But nonetheless, Ossero squints. The foggy atmosphere of the void obscures whatever is there. But it’s on the large End island on the other side of the gap.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">In a quick movement, they summon up a chorus fruit and crunch down on it. It teleports them a few steps back. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Then Ossero takes a flying leap into the void.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The elytra wings spring into action, catching the empty air and sending them gliding into the nothingness. The newly created wind whistles in their ears, a welcome break from the ever present silence.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They dip low into the abyss, hatching up momentum, before once again gliding back up. Their armored feet land on the end stone with a soft clink.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And Ossero cannot believe their eyes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There, about thirty blocks away, purpur blocks and end stone bricks form what almost looks to be the ruins of an End City. But it’s circular, and low to the ground, with purple pillars ringing it.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And in the center, the unmistakeable, deep, sparkling depths of a portal.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">If ever a time when the movements of their own heart could kill them, this is it. The stone of monotonous loneliness in their chest that’s been present for months now is shattered, the feeling that couldn’t be quelled no matter how much loot and magic they achieved is suddenly gone.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And for the first time in a long time, Ossero feels hope.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They blink. Once, twice. Could this be a mirage? Are they finally going crazy after being here alone for such a time? Or maybe they’re dying?</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But no matter how many times they blink, the structure remains.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And before they know it, they’re sprinting towards it, desperate, almost hysterical laughter escaping their lips.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s sunk into the pale ground, slightly, so they almost trip as they hop down into it. Green and blue star-like shapes twinkle from under a never ending blackness, reminiscent of the End Portal in the stronghold.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A couple tears escapes their eyes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Their saving grace.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They’re going home, they think, as they take a lightheaded step into the unknown.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They’re going home.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I know that while my other work moves at a snail’s pace, but this one is moving rather quick. Anyway.<br/>It’s quiet and lonely in the end. Enjoy and leave a comment!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. At the Crown</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">No one ventures to the crown of the Crystal Peak. It is an unspoken rule, not written on the many safety stones and notices within the mines. There is no government here, no rules or laws. Only unspoken things that the bugs who work there are supposed to do, and supposed to not do.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Their lives are not governed by such things, only be an agreement of right and wrong that those who work in the crystal mines know and learn quickly. The singing of the precious minerals, the steady clinking of pickaxes, the rumbling of service elevators, and the rattling of pulley chains is what forms the symphony of their lives. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There is a beauty in this simple life that they have, the many bugs who attach lumafly lanterns to their shells to see in the sharp darkness. A beauty that is both complex and easy to understand. If you were to ask any bug worth the cracks in their shell if they’d rather be anywhere else, they’d answer in the negative.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Even the capital, the City of Tears, with its nobles and frequent visits from the great King, is pale in comparison to their rich song of hard work and camaraderie. It’s not a thing that can be put into words, only sounds and feelings and looks. A language of the heart and soul, instead of a language of words.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But even then, there are some more important unspoken rules. Such as, if you get a bad feeling from an area, leave immediately. If the stone and earth above you creaks walk slowly and quietly. And most important of all, no one ventures to the crown of the Crystal Peak. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They stay within the stone of it, but none who go to the top meet a good fate. This, especially, became a more prominent urban legend between miners and residents of small towns, when the infection set its claws into Hallownest. It started with the smallest of villages, which were naught but a collection of huts and bugs who wanted to be left alone. They raved about a light in their dreams, before going insane and laying waste to their homes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Eventually, the sentries and guards from the City of Tears began patrolling the communities, cutting down the mad infected. The mines have seen their fair share of it, too. The orange light that haunts the infected’s eyes bounces off the pink crystal, reflects around their cramped tunnels.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Needless to say, they are taken care of quickly. But they say that any who should venture to the crown of the Crystal Peak will see something so horrible, so incomprehensible, that they will go mad.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There is evidence. Stories and corpses and things that people would rather forget. So, the rule unspoken was set in crystal and stone: do not go to the top of the mountain if you value your life.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">So no one did.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">At least, not until today, when bugs mining near the top of the peak heard something from above; an earthshattering thud and a clanking, accompanied by the rush of air through fabric. They fled to the lower levels, spreading their story as they went: there is something on top of Crystal Peak.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It doesn’t take long for the fact to trickle down the chain from top to bottom—or for others mining near the top levels to take to the service elevators and the tunnels leading down. If there is a mad infected bug up there, no one wants to be the one to see it, or encounter its rumored strength. But no one wants to venture to the place that will drive a bug mad, either, for fear of becoming infected themself.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">So they find their eldest and most experienced—which includes a pair of stout bugs named Miklai and Yla—and they gather on a creaking platform, to discuss what to do. There are no sentries at the mines today—all the nail-wielding, tall bugs from the capital have been called back to deal with some incidents, something about the barbaric Mantis Tribe, leaving the miners alone with nothing but their pickaxes to defend themselves from whatever is up there.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I heard it, clear as day!” Squeaks a thin bug with a worn shell, eyes frightened from behind their mask. “I swear it! My Wyrm, it was the sound of something landing!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“As-as did I!” His partner adds, hands shaking with their grip around a worn pick.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“We believe, we believe you,” the Foreman, a bug so old and so established within the mines that no one knows his real name, affirms to the shaking bugs. “But no guards have come. We know not what’s to be done, done at all.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Another bug, taller and also known for their wit, says, “we could send someone up to see. There are only legends, after all. Nothing more.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No,” the Foreman replies immediately, in a gruff tone. “We will not risk such a thing. We are short of work these days, all days, anyway.” A hum of agreement goes around the room.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">That is, before all eyes turn to two small bugs in the corner, who have been watching the conversation as it progresses. Yla and Miklai, two lovers who have worked in the mines for the majority of their lives. They are known for their cunning, which far outweighs even the most skilled cutter. A while back, a devastating collapse shook the mountain, and the casualties were only reduced by the quick thinking of those two. Ever since, they’ve been held in high regard by all within the mountain—even the Foreman.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Yla, a she-bug, seems to notice the attention before her partner does. But she already looks as if coming from beneath a deep pile of thought, because she pressed a claw to her chin and speaks.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I can’t speak for Miklai,” she says, “but I could go and see what the disturbance is.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A shocked silence fills the room.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Do not, young Yla, do not,” the Foreman warns immediately, “there is nothing, nothing awaiting you there, youngling. Only madness dwells up there. We shall wait until the next morn, when the guards should again arrive.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I agree with Yla,” Miklai suddenly says, his abrupt interruption startling all in the stone room. He is a bug who looks so average and normal that his participation in such conversations if oft not expected. But he does support his lover in her thoughts, however strange they may be. Perhaps he has learned that she is rarely wrong, as some, like the Foreman, have.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She nods vigorously, “If that is what’s said, Miklai shall accompany me. We have some old nails lying around, do we not? We are of sound mind. Should the infection take us, it will not be without a fight.” Miklai looks slightly apprehensive, but he hums an affirmation.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The Foreman sighs. There is no point now in trying to deter them from their course of action—once Yla has made a decision, she sticks to it with the ferocity of a beast. And Miklai almost always stick with her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“If you believe, truly believe,” the Foreman finally says, albeit begrudgingly, “then take your nails, and see what is up there. But if you do not return, you were warned.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“We understand,” Miklai says quietly. He and Yla leave without further word, ascending a nearby elevator with an intense rattle. It is only moments before the Foreman can no longer see them.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He signs a heavy sigh under his worn and creaking shell. He does hope they will be alright. He’s quite fond of the two of them.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">With no one else operating the elevators, they reach the highest level, and the dreaded tunnel that leads to the mountain’s peak, in no time. Life within Crystal Peak has ground to a halt, in lieu of the events that have transpired at the crown, where people are said to lose their minds.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Yla presses forward ahead of Miklai, a dusty old nail in one hand. She walks casually, as if they aren’t going to face a place of fabled death and sickness. Miklai has no idea how she does it. Perhaps it’s what makes him love her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The infection is a great fear of his—perhaps Yla simply feels no fear, or maybe she’s just braver than him. It matters not. Miklai is happy to be a coward if it means he could stay by her side.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The flimsy gate that separated the dreaded walkway comes into view—though, it’s not even locked, so it couldn’t protect them even if something was afoot above. A pity.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Yla hums as she unceremoniously pushes past the gate, not even stopping to consider this may be the final chapter of their lives. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And side by side, the two lovers emerge onto the peak of Crystal Peak—where King’s Pass can be clearly seen through the haze of sky.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And they see something they’ve never seen the likes of before.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There, on the dull and dusty ground, a colorful, shining thing stands out. Fabric that looks expensive enough for any noble, turquoise armor plating their long, fabric-coated arms, a decadent purple cloak.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And an unmasked face. Framed by light indigo swathes of fur or fabric—neither of them can tell from the short distance away. But the slits of black on the strangely shaped face are closed, and that’s usually where the eyes are...</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">This creature is asleep. Unconscious, even.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Both of them stare, equal parts dumbfounded and afraid. Afraid of this strange, disproportionate entity that sleeps on the roof of this place. All thoughts of bad luck or curses are forgotten, and Yla and Miklai stand there, staring and gaping.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They’re so distracted, in fact, that they don’t see the eerie statue a few yards away.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Another chapter! Cool. Also, check out my tumblr and you’ll see I posted a drawing of Ossero. Gotta see the drip.<br/>Also, Yla and Miklai...I wonder if those names remind you of anyone else? Maybe....a certain other miner bug?<br/>Enjoy and leave a comment!</p><p>—Steele</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Welcome (Not) Home</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Yla and Miklai stare at the strangely shaped body for a moment, silently. It’s not really fear that wracks their shell.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s really just complete and total confusion.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And after a moment, Yla presses a hand to her mask in thought, and says. “Well. We’d best take them inside, right?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Miklai spins around, looking at her as if she’s sprouted a third arm. “Are you insane?” He exclaims. “What if it’s infected?!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Yla shrugs. “The infected don’t sleep. The infection spreads through sleep, but the infected themselves don’t sleep, love. I can check it’s eyes, if you want.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He stares back at her. Really, he can’t know why he loves this bug—she has absolutely no sense of self-preservation. “No—I’ll do it. We can’t rightly bring it inside if it turns out infected,” he says hurriedly, and bounces over cautiously to the body.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Miklai gets a better look at the long form—it’s wearing strange clothes. Elaborate, dark, rich-colored robes, like something he would see in the capital. Metal buttons and linings edge along the apparel, in weird places. He’s never seen anything like it.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But what’s most disturbing is the face. Miklai has never seen an unmasked face—other than his own, his parents, and his beloved Yla. But this face is not like any that he’s ever seen.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It curves in strange contours, with a pointed protrusion on the face. Little pink petals of skin line the seam in the fleshy face, where what he truly hopes isn’t a mouth. And swathes of dark indigo hair or fur falls over its face, and the weird, thin flaps of wrinkled flesh on the side of its round face.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It makes him nearly shiver. What a horrifying face. Even sleeping, it’s just....wrong. Patterns of hair line the sunken divots where it’s eyes would be, which are stained purple and black. No shell, no nothing. It’s sickening.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Yla sighs a few steps away, obviously wanting him to hurry it up. And slowly, cautiously, Miklai reaches out and pokes the face.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His finger sinks in slightly, but he doesn’t have time to react before the flaps of flesh over its eyes fly open, revealing a pair of eyes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He helps and scurries back, as the being darts to its feet—and before Yla can draw her old nail, a flash of white lights the clifftop and shimmering blue nail—glowing faintly, appears in its fleshy hand.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Silence. Only the sound of the strange creature’s heavy breathing breaks it.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Miklai dares not move, for fear of drawing its attention and the wrath of the shiny, foreign nail.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He’s about to shout to Yla to run, because they don’t know what this thing is, but before he can, her lilting voice cuts the tension like a knife.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, I think I can safely say that they’re not infected,” she says casually. Her nail lays at her hip, as if she’s not staring a strange, unmasked and horrifying creature in the eyes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He’s once again prevented from speaking when the hoarse and croaky voice of the creature itself responds.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ex-excuse me?” It rasps, lowering its nail slightly. The voice sounds as if it were disused.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Yla ignores those words and turns her gaze to him, gesturing towards the creature. “Infected beings have golden-orange eyes, Mik. If you will, this being does not,” she then turns back to said being. And she’s right. Now that he looks—the eyes of the being are....strange. They are mostly dark purple, glowing slightly and casting their face in a ghostly pallor. But a pupil of white sits in the middle, which follows their gaze as its darts between the two bugs.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Apologies, my friend,” Yla continues, and offers her hand. “For the abrupt introduction. We meant you no harm. Are you alright? And if you don’t mind my asking, how did you get up here?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They look down at her hand strangely, as if they don’t know what to do with it. “I, uh.....” a panicked look is cast between both Miklai and Yla. “Wh-who are you two? Where am I?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">That throws him off. “You’re on top of the Crystal Peak mines,” he says, trying to keep his voice even. “My name is Miklai, and that is Yla. We work in the mines. And you are....?” He puts a guiding tone into his voice, suggesting what he means.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They blink. “O-Ossero,” they say, “my name’s—my name is Ossero. It’s, um, nice to....meet you?” They look confused, as if they can’t quite understand what kind of basic question they’re being asked. “And, um....Crystal Peak...? I’m sorry, I don’t recognize the name of the area?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">This time, even Yla looks stumped. Everyone knows Crystal Peak. Even city-slickers know where their expensive glass and jewelry. The mines are a huge source of income for Hallownest, an important economic symbol! There’s no one in the whole of Hallownest who doesn’t know the area, at least.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A look of understanding passes between the couple. Whoever this Ossero is, however they got here....well, that’ll have to come later. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Miklai blusters, “then—where are you from? Er, Ossero?” That makes their horrific face twist, and a hand go to rub the back of their head.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m, well....” they say hoarsely, “I’m from....um....” they trail off. “You know what? My place doesn’t really have....a name....”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">An awkward silence settles over the peak. They continue to stare at the ground with their eerily glowing eyes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I see,” Yla says, nodding sagely, which earns her a confused look from him. “Ossero, you say? I can see you’re a bit lost, yes?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They nod, still looking back between the two of them. Their nail is touching the ground now, the hostility long faded from their stance. They just look....out of place, on the dusty top of the mine and....lost.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well!” Yla says, clasping her hands, a charismatic aspect in her voice, “in any case, why don’t you come stay with Miklai and I in the mines until you can get your bearings straight? You could, I don’t know, take up a job if you like? Unless, you’re traveling? Anyway, we can help you get yourself back on track. Can’t we, Mik?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He nods vigorously, even though he’s really not sure what his love is trying to do.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“O-oh!” Ossero chirps, looking tragically overwhelmed. “I-uh. I guess I’m pretty good at...mining. And thanks for your offer, but I really don’t want to be a burden in any way—“</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh of course not!” Yla says dramatically. “And you’re a good miner? Perfect. An easy way to score yourself some easy geo if you know what you’re doing! It’s settled, then. Come down with us!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Between both of their stares, Ossero finally concedes. “A-alright,” they rasp, an awkward smile gracing their ghostly features.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Wonderful!” Yla exclaims, collecting her nail. “Miklai, do come here.” She beckons towards him, where he takes up his usual position by her side. Ossero follows like a curious tiktik, lanky and awkward in the tunnel that was designed for much smaller, stouter beings.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He shoots her a look, from below his mask, but Yla walks down the tunnel and stairs as confidently and casually as she always does. He holds back a sigh.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His love is truly an enigma. But he’ll try to have faith in her nonetheless.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The looks that Ossero gets as the three of them enter the main chamber are nothing short of horrified. It may be their strange, terrifying face, or their blatant lack of mask, but the Foreman and all his companions freeze when Yla walks into the room, toting both her lover and a creature the likes of which none have ever seen.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“My Wyrm!” One taller bug, with crooked antennae, exclaims. “What on earth—“ he’s cut short by a hand movement from the Foreman, whose expression is steady.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well,” he rumbles, eyes flicking to Ossero, “I see you found out what all that commotion at the peak was. And you’re still sane. Mind explaining your new friend, young Yla? Miklai?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Yla lays her nail down on a rack, shrugging as of this is just a normal conversation. “This is Ossero,” she says, gesturing to the tall one, whose brow is furrowed with worried confusion. “They don’t quite know the area, Foreman, if you know what I mean. I figured we could give them a hand?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There’s a heavy implication in her voice, something that can’t quite be put into words. But if it could, it would simply translate as an intense interest. And what happens in the mines, stays in the mines. Another unspoken code amongst the people who work and live there.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Another bug squints at their guest. “Wyrm, didja find this guy in a shallow grave, Yla? They poor bug’s half dead!” A chuckle runs around the room, making Ossero frown. They’ll have to get used to the morbid, obscure humor shared by most of the miners.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“In any case,” the Foreman says, studying Ossero’s face intently, “I don’t see why not. However, they can be your responsibility for now, Yla. Unless you plan to work, friend?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It takes a moment for Ossero to realize that he’s speaking to them. “Oh! Um—“ they bluster, “I can mine. I mean, I’ve never done it as a job, but I definitely can, uh, do that.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“They also have a rather interesting nail, sir,” Yla adds. “And I seem to recall that we’re missing our guards for a while.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ah, I see,” the Foreman says. He then looks to Ossero themself. “We could use the extra help, young one. If you would like to, you may use the living quarters for the miners, if you chose to stay here for a while, hm? Either as a guard or a miner.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A bead of clear liquid runs down their face, and they force a smile onto their face. “I—I guess I could. So, when d-do I start?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The Foreman, despite his mask, if obviously making his signature grandfatherly, mischievous smile. “Whenever you like, young Ossero. Your help is much appreciated. Oh, and you’ll need this.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Out of the folds of his cloak, the Foreman produces a weathered mask in his hands, which Ossero takes, slowly, and pulls onto their face. It’s a little small, so their chin and the gaunt edges of their face are visible, but....</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">What’s most alarming is the eyes. The white pupils of their eyes glow brightly in stark contrast to the shadows cast by the mask, and a faint purple glow peeks through the eyeholes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And seemingly unaware of their own oddities, Ossero tucks their expensive-looking cloak over themself. “Thanks,” they say.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Miklai swears he sees their eyes crinkle at the edges, in a smile.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The name Ossero quickly becomes a topic of interest around the Crystal Peak mines.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The strange, soft being patrols the halls, asking the routine questions that they’ve been given to root out infection. And infection that they very obviously know nothing about, since they ask Miklai about it as soon as they arrive back at their home after the first day.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They stalk around the entrance with a silvery-pale nail, made of a substance which no one can identify. And their dark, cool clothes stand out among the dull blues of the bugs nearby. And it quickly becomes obvious, when Ossero lifts a heavy shipment of crystals with ease, that they’re much stronger than the average bugs.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Yla has noticed that they’re....reserved. Nervous. They never go drinking in the crowds, instead electing to quietly slip her questions. Things that any normal bug in Hallownest would know.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She’s not stupid. In all honestly, Yla thinks of herself as pretty smart. She’s known for her cleverness, and she was clever enough to successfully court another smart bug like Miklai. And it doesn’t take a genius miner-bug to deduce that Ossero, who she might say is not even a bug, does not hail from Hallownest.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She’s seen strange, shimmering armor that they seem to change every once in a while. Their room in her home is sparse, but strange, spiral-shaped boxes made of purple shell appear and disappear every day. Ossero is definitely not devoid of items—she’s seen everything from foreign food to foreign metals, and strange devices. Pickaxes that shimmer, and plenty of odd nails that’s she’s itching to get her hands on.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Somehow, they have these items stored....somewhere.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But even she knows better than to inquire. The distress that comes off of her guest is almost palpable—they look uncomfortable with their surroundings, with even talking to people.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And Yla dares not ask. Because even she knows what a lost person looks like. Her own parents were the same way, when they became miners. Lost, with nothing, and no one. Either running from something, or desperately trying to get something back.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Whether they can or not? Who’s to say.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The enigmatic sentry of the Crystal Peak mines fades into rumors for a moment. They are odd, an odd bug with odd clothes, and odd light that speaks of magic. And some miners swear up and down that they glow a faint violet in the darkest tunnels and chambers.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They are odd, but oddness is the business of the miners. Not all things can be explained in the caves, after all. Living side by side with the unknown is the norm for them. Even when the unknown protects them from the light that haunts their dreams.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And there hasn’t been any infected in the mines for a few days. It’s been a week since the Foreman introduced Ossero to the miners. And none of them have ever seen them fight.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Until the eight day.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Ossero makes their way past the hall entrances, elevators and chains churn, and the steady song of crystals being mined fills the mines with a strange, repetitive music. Until, a desperate scream interrupts.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They whirl around. Miklai gifted them an odd thing called a sheath, which they keep on the back of their waist. That’s where they keep a beat-up old iron sword. They’ve long figured out, by odd looks, that their inventory is foreign to the bugs.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A stout miner-bug stumbles out of a tunnel entrance, pickaxe cast aside. They yell hysterically, and immediately, life grinds to a halt as the bugs back away.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They pull out their sword. Could it be one of those infected bugs that they’ve heard of? Could an infection by dream even be a real thing?</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Suddenly, a shadow with glowing, bubbling eyes stumbles out of the entrance. A gurgling hiss escapes its mouth.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But the eyes make a chill run down their spine. A sickly orange light bubbles out of them, accompanying the guttural growl the thing makes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They take a step back, hesitating. Could this thing really be that dangerous?</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And suddenly, it darts forward—not at them—</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But at the miner who ran from it.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And Ossero’s body moves faster than they thought it would, and in a fast, clean cut, their sword bites through the brittle shell and splatters orange goo onto the earth.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The crouch in landing a few steps away from the body, cleanly bisected.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The bugs look on in a mixture of horror and relief.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">That’s the first and last time they see Ossero fight. It’s fast, so fast you could blink and miss it. But it’s deadly. Clean. In a way some of their old sentries couldn’t make up for.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They’re all glad they have Ossero now.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Don’t know why I felt the urge to speedrun a chapter tonight. Anyway.<br/>Enjoy and leave a comment!</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello.<br/>No sweat friends! This is just a side piece, my other work will continue to see my most effort. I just wanted some new characters and feelings to write!<br/>And I wanted to see what would happen if a minecrafter went to Hallownest, instead of the other way around. Enjoy and leave a comment!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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